


The Chevalier

by Quilligraphy_92



Series: Distraction [2]
Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Romance, monchevy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 11:46:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17661998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilligraphy_92/pseuds/Quilligraphy_92
Summary: Philippe tries to prepare for Louis's next council meeting, the Chevalier tries to distract him.





	The Chevalier

**Author's Note:**

> This series explores the same scene from both Philippe and the Chevalier's perspectives. I hope to continue the story further in the future, but i'm not sure my writing is quite ready for where these two are clearly headed!

The Chevalier de Lorraine strode through the corridors of Versailles towards Philippe’s rooms, his stomach full with wine and his pocket heavy with coin. He really had enjoyed a most splendid afternoon in the salon with Liselotte; together they had devised a rather deft ruse at the card table and cheated most of their acquaintances out of a fair portion of their fortunes.

He let a smug smile pull at his lips. Life always did seem better when one was winning. Even more-so when one had cheated _and_ got away with it.

Whilst he relished the long, luxurious days whiled away with Philippe at Saint-Cloud, the Chevalier could not deny that Versailles was where he felt most alive – surrounded by the hustle and bustle and gossip of court. Truly, he revelled in it. Especially as he was back in favour with the King - well, as in favour as he could ever hope to be. For once, it felt as though everything was falling into place, and to top off the most perfect of afternoons, he was very much looking forwards to a perfectly _pleasurable_ evening.

A tingle of anticipation shook his body at the thought. His steps quickened, eager to reach their goal.

Rounding the corridor to the D’Orleans suite, the Chevalier pushed his way though the main doors of the apartment with a little more gusto than intended. Swinging on their hinges, the doors slammed into the wall, causing him to start, the noise echoing through the large rooms. Perhaps that last bottle of wine had been a mistake. After passing a quick glance around the ante-room in search of Philippe, and with barely a hesitation in his step, he continued on toward the bedchamber, shrugging off his coat and throwing it in the vague direction of a servant as he went.

Though, on reaching the room, his footsteps faltered and stopped as he took in the sight before him. Unmoved from when the Chevalier had last laid eyes on him, Philippe sat hunched over the desk, his back to the door. His ebony locks flowed in soft waves over his slender shoulders, and porcelain pale skin peaked through at the nape of his neck. The Chevalier’s breath hitched at the sight, and the thrum of anticipation built in his veins. _His_ Philippe. Not in the possessive sense, of course. Once upon a time, maybe. But now - now his heart swelled with pride at the sight of this wonderful, intelligent, honourable man, who had chosen to be with _him_ , of all people. Though, his heart was not the only thing that swelled, a sudden tightness in his breeches alerted him.

Letting out a steadying breath and giving a quick tug to straighten his waistcoat, he slowly crossed the room towards Philippe, relishing every step that brought him closer to his beloved, and the heady feeling of lust that built within him. Slowly, so as not to startle the man, he placed his hands on Philippe’s shoulders, and felt him practically melt to the touch. The quill that had been so busily scratching away, paused between slender fingers. The Chevalier suppressed a smug grin – _God_ he loved having this affect on the man.

Leaning forward, he coasted his hands down Philippe’s chest, feeling the smooth planes of his body. A body the Chevalier knew so well, yet still desired to explore again and again. ‘So...’ he murmured into Philippe’s ear, as smoothly as he could manage, trying to keep the anticipation from his voice,‘...here you are...in _exactly_ the same position that I left you in not four hours ago’.

Immediately he felt the tension build within Philippe, his muscles tightening under the Chevalier’s hands. ‘Well, this report wont read itself, and Louis said that it had to be looked over in preparation for tomorrows council meeting’. Philippe didn't turn around, didn't even lift his eyes from the papers in front of him, the frustration evident in his voice.

Great – so he was in one of _those_ moods. Damn Louis. Damn him for making Philippe feel he had to prove himself. Damn him for reducing his beloved to this state. And damn him most of all for ruining the Chevalier’s plans for the night! A pang of anger clenched at his stomach, making his desire for some release all the more potent. And if the Chevalier hadn't wished to indulge Philippe before, he most certainly did now. A _distraction_ was clearly what the man needed; a little bit of play and pleasure always helped to put things in perspective, helped improve a situation. Well, that's what he had found...most of the time, anyway.

Purpose renewed, the Chevalier drew his hands back up Philippe’s body, tucking the man’s dark waves behind a shoulder and exposing more of his pale neck. Ever so gently, he pressed his lips to the soft skin, and kissed a trail up towards Philippe’s ear, all the while inhaling the heady scent of his beloved – warm, musky male undertones, mixed with the sweet floral notes of his favourite perfume. Lifting his lips, he whispered to Philippe’s ear. ‘I can think of something else that is rather important, and also requires your _urgent_ attention, my dear’. Though meant to entice, the statement could not be more true, the discomfort in his breeches reminded him.

‘You're drunk’.

‘I am not!’. He most certainly was. But the retaliation was on his lips before he could stop himself, his body retracting from Philippe’s in defence, despite the amusement clear in the other man’s tone. Old habits die hard, it would seem. ‘Just...a tad merry, maybe’; there, at least he wasn't outright lying now.

‘Then I take it that you had a successful afternoon in the salon?’ Philippe enquired, though now freed from the Chevalier’s grasp his focus had clearly returned to his work. Not once had his beautiful grey-blue eyes left those damn papers. Not once had his fingers released that fucking quill.

‘Most assuredly so!’ the Chevalier exclaimed, eager to regain Philippe’s attentions, to distract him from Louis’s pitiful task. Rummaging in his waistcoat pocket he withdrew the pouch of coins. Tossing it from palm to palm, enjoying the weight of his winnings, he flicked the pouch so it landed – more by luck than aim – next to Philippe’s elbow on the desk, making a heavy ‘thump’. _That_ should draw his attentions. And indeed, Philippe’s gaze lifted from his papers to eye the intrusion. Eager not to loose his focus, the Chevalier rounded the chair to perch on the desk, clearly in Philippe’s eye-line. ‘You are not the only one who has been hard at work this afternoon. It turns out that your wife and I make quite the team. We devised a rather deft cheat at Bragg and quite trounced anyone foolish enough to play us!’. Philippe’s eyes briefly met his own. ‘I thought we could both celebrate our productive afternoons with a more _pleasurable_ evening’. The Chevalier shifted on the desk so that his waistcoat parted to reveal his breeches, making his intentions most _prominently_ known, and sure enough Philippe’s gaze travelled south.

A gasp, barely audible, escaped Philippe’s lips, and the Chevalier caught a flicker of lust in his beautiful eyes before they were drawn away, the man gripping his quill all the tighter. Damn. Why was he resisting so? The arousal practically oozed off of him, and this hesitation only served to entice the Chevalier further, fanning the flames of lust that had already gripped his slightly drink fogged mind. ‘Well...’ came the man’s response, his breath clearly shaking with restraint ‘as delightful as that sounds I really must get this report finished, you know how much I want to keep this position on the council’.

Yes. The Chevalier did know. But he also knew that no-one, least of all Louis, was going to appreciate the efforts Philippe was going to. Though clearly, his Mignonette was in need of more persuasion – but if those were the terms of the game, then the Chevalier was more than willing to play. ‘Ah, yes...of course’ he replied, as dismissively as possible, leaning back and casting a nonchalant eye over his fingernails, as if the rebuff was truly of no significance. ‘Only..it strikes me a little odd, that a prince of France is working harder than the king’.

From the corner of his eye he caught Philippe’s hesitation, could almost see his resistance, until finally the man caved, sitting back in his chair and throwing a quizzical look in his direction. The Chevalier couldn’t help but beam a victorious grin.

‘Oh yes...’ he said, as he leaned forwards, finally plucking that fucking quill from between Philippe’s poised fingers and discarding it on the desk, ‘...he spent most of the afternoon at the salon, then retired early with the Madame de Maintenon in tow’. At least, that's what he had overheard at the card tables – and court gossip rarely proved _entirely_ inaccurate. ‘It would appear as though the King is having all the fun at court these days’ he muttered, as he lifted Philippe’s now motionless hand to study the blotches of black ink marring the otherwise flawless skin of his long, elegant fingers.

Long, elegant fingers the Chevalier would much rather had spent the afternoon gripping something other than that quill. Though all in good time. Eyeing Philippe with a devilish smile, he drew the man’s hand towards his mouth. ‘We simply cant...’ he mused, before slipping Philippe’s thumb between his lips and sucking along the length, ‘...be having that…’, he repeated the motion on the next finger, ‘...can we’, he said, Philippe’s third finger entering his mouth. He allowed his lips to slide along the slender length as his tongue subconsciously draw patterns on the smooth skin, savouring the slightly salty taste; all the while his eyes never left Philippe - watching as the man’s breath became laboured, his frame lax, and his eyes heavy with desire.

Suddenly Philippe was on his feet, between the Chevalier’s thighs as he sat spread on the desk. It were as though someone had flicked a switch within the man – the lust the Chevalier had been watching simmer way within him, having finally boiled over. Soft lips pressed against his, eager and forceful, as hands roamed his back, his chest, his thighs. The Chevalier met this passion with equal desire, wrapping his legs around Philippe’s waist and pulling him close, a hand tangling in his hair, the other reaching down to palm his arse – a soft moan escaped him, muffled by Philippe’s mouth.

Then, pulling back – pulling back far too soon – Philippe broke their kiss, his lips plump and moist, and his hair dishevelled from the Chevalier’s attentions. ‘So..’ he sighed, on heaving breaths ‘shall we head to the bed?’.

Desire coursing through his veins, the Chevalier smiled a wicked grin as a devilish thought tickled his mind...something to put Louis damn report right in its place. ‘Mignonette, what on earth is wrong with the desk?’.


End file.
